


Older in September

by langsdelijn



Series: This Calendar Go-Round [1]
Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Gen, Multi, Pre-Season Testing 2015
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:23:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/langsdelijn/pseuds/langsdelijn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jenson is helpful but Lewis is not very thankful for his efforts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Older in September

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _Wennen aan september_ ("Getting Used to September") by Bløf and the Counting Crows.

Lewis had hoped to make it through the day without suffering through sympathetic but concerned lectures from all and sundry. He almost made it, too, curtly cutting off anyone who seemed to be threatening to give him a talking to and making an effort to evade the usual suspects completely—but at the end of the day, Jenson managed to materialise out of thin air or something, and cornered him.

(As Jenson did not seem to believe in taking half measures in meddling, yes, literally cornered him.)

Lewis did the mature thing and ignored his ominously cheerful greeting. If he just ignored Jenson, maybe he would get bored and go away; there were undoubtedly others in the vicinity with slightly less publicised personal problems who could be enlightened by his unmatched wisdom.

‘Lewis,’ Jenson repeated, in his I-knew-you-when-you-were-this-high-and-in-my-mind-you-still-are voice, or possibly his concerned-mentor voice. He had lot of voices, Jenson, none of which Lewis wanted to hear now or usually at any other time. So far, he had been unsuccessful at getting this across to the man. Lewis apparently gave off help-me-oh-respected-elder signals especially targeted to the meddlesome bastard.

(Although maybe that wasn’t entirely fair: Jenson probably saw all of them as still being the same age as when he’d first met them. Lewis sometimes suspected that he believed he’d emerged fully grown and geared-up from Zeus’ own crash helmet, having skipped or forgotten all that childhood and puberty nonsense—that would certainly explain why he thought eleven years old qualified as “little”, didn’t it—even though Lewis had to admit he’d never seen him working his universal big brother number on the likes of Fernando and Kimi, so maybe Jenson wasn’t always unaware of his own actual age. Just selectively. Like with him.)

Jenson sighed a disappointed sigh when his third try also went unanswered. Lewis almost dared hope that he was succeeding at waiting him out, but he probably should have known there was no chance he’d be so lucky. ‘I know this was about Nico again.’

‘What,’ Lewis managed. He’d meant to say all of “What are you talking about?” but he was so caught off-guard that a cat had, indeed, got his tongue.

And where had Jenson even come up with this pearl of wisdom? About Nico _again_? There hadn’t been anything about Nico in the first place. _Nico_ was irrelevant to Lewis’ romantic relationships.

‘Lewis,’ Jenson said again. It was a marvel what shades of meaning he could inflect on a two-syllable name. And how fucking fond of saying it he was. Jenson honestly was best enjoyed whenever he was not trying to be helpful.

‘Jenson,’ Lewis countered, and though this meant ceding the presence of a conversation to him, at least as long as he was speaking, Jenson wasn’t, which was clearly the best solution available to him at present. ‘You have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘I know this may be hard to believe, Lewis,’ _stop saying my goddamn name_ , Lewis thought at him angrily, but Jenson proved impervious to righteous telepathic fury and continued, unconcerned, ‘but occasionally I talk to people, and they tell me things.’

‘Nicole talked to you,’ he echoed sceptically, and against his better judgement, because it would only lead to more of Jenson talking. About… ‘About me. And Nico.’

‘Hm,’ he confirmed.

‘Bollocks.’

‘Lewis,’ Jenson said, for a change, because it wasn’t a Helpful Jenson Chat without being a talked at like a child—Lewis idly wondered if he could goad Jenson into breaking out the stern “young man”s just for the sake of some variety, since it was no use hoping for Jenson to see reason and go away—, ‘she talked to me because she was worried.’

This was ridiculous. If she was _worried_ about—about what? About _Nico_? Why, because of a dumb joke he’d made on TV under the influence? He couldn’t think of anything else. And certainly not anything that could’ve happened recently. Him and Nico were only barely back on good terms with each other. There was nothing to concerned _about_. And anyway, if she really did worry, she would have talked to him about it. Lewis triumphantly proposed this line of reasoning to Jenson.

‘I told her she had nothing to worry about,’ Jenson agreed. ‘I said to her that although you have the most adorable schoolboy crush on Britney—well, I didn’t call him “Britney” th—’

Lewis made a strangled noise then that he wasn’t very proud of, because it suggested there was something to this assertion. Which there wasn’t.

Jenson sighed again. ‘At some point, mate, you really are going to have to admit you totally do.’

‘No I don’t.’

‘Have one or have to admit to it?’ Jenson grinned.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. ‘I’m not gay,’ Lewis pointed out.

‘Didn’t say you were.’

‘I’m not—’ _anything like that_ , he was going to say, but Jenson cut him off.

‘Yeah,’ Jenson scoffed, ‘tell that to someone who hasn’t heard you wax lyrical about blokes when your defences are down.’

‘I am not in love with Nico!’ Lewis protested, although the pitch at which he uttered the end of that sentence may not have been audible anymore to older people like Jenson. ‘Not that…’ not that he was conceding the previous point. Goddamn Jenson.

‘Lewis,’ he said gently—correction: goddamn Jenson and goddamn his patient pitying sympathy for his imaginary boy trouble—like he was talking to some deluded closet case, ‘it’s fine, alright. I wish you could see that.’

‘It’s nonsense, is what it is,’ he muttered glumly. He could intellectually appreciate the aesthetics of blokes, maybe, but that didn’t mean anything other than that he wasn’t blind. And even then it was all theoretical anyway. Or it had been. And it would be again if it were up to him.

Jenson started talking again, arguing no doubt how it was okay to be gay or some such, but Lewis tuned him out in favour of seriously debating the wisdom of fleeing and hiding out somewhere Jenson’d get thrown out of. 

He decided against it. His shelterers would only want to know what he was doing there. And then _they_ would probably also have some unwelcome advice to dole out. He could always lock himself into an empty room somewhere, but to be honest he felt that was too far. And too on the nose.

‘Lewis?’ Jenson asked, after far too short of a reprieve. ‘Are you listening to me?’

‘No.’ He didn’t really think Jenson would finally get the hint, but he was desperate enough to try. ‘Go away.’

‘Oh, Lewis,’ sighed Jenson, habitual hint-refuser, and did the opposite. _Goddamn Jenson_. He never should’ve said anything. Maybe he actually would’ve gone away if Lewis had kept his mouth shut like he’d planned to.

‘How do you not get that I don’t want to talk to you?’ he finally demanded, when Jenson had settled down beside him.

‘I think maybe you do,’ Jenson shrugged. Lewis was glad he hadn’t bothered to do him the courtesy of taking off his sunglasses, because that meant that he could roll his eyes behind them in peace at the presumptuous prick. Of all the… Apparently it was opposite day in Jenson’s head.

‘Did that make sense in your head?’

‘Yes,’ Jenson said confidently. Maybe he’d just gone crazy. It would explain everything. If Jenson was crazy, Nicole might not even have talked to him, and all this was as mental as he thought it was. Lewis tried not to hope Jenson had gone ’round the bend. Too much.

‘Care to share?’ he pressed, when inevitably this was where Jenson would voluntarily shut up.

Jenson slung his arm around him. Lewis let him. It was nice, in a very irritating way. Jenson should feel welcome to cuddle up with him anytime he didn’t have anything to lecture him about. ‘You should talk to someone about this. You know that, right? And why not me?’

Lewis groaned. ‘You are the worst,’ he informed him. ‘If you won’t leave me alone, just shut up and sit with me and console me about my girlfriend.’

‘I’m doing two of those three things,’ Jenson said serenely.

‘I count one,’ Lewis countered. ‘And even that one _barely_.’

‘Well, I count two.’

‘I’d concede two if you made the second shutting up.’

‘If you’d rather have silence than help…’

‘You’re terrible at this.’

‘I’m a great listener, mate.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Jenson’s skill at both helping and listening had been trialled and found wanting. Lewis really thought he might be on to something with the notion of Jenson being best enjoyed silent. ‘And _how_ are you helping?’

‘Seriously? Mate, how are you not getting this?’

‘You’re making no sense again.’

Jenson sighed. Again. It was like his non-verbal equivalent to saying his name in a variety of new and interesting ways every other sentence. He didn’t like it any more than the meaningfully-inflected-name thing. ‘What did she say to you?’

‘What?’

‘Nicole, Lewis. Jesus Christ, mate, at least pay attention—’

‘I can’t help it if you give me whiplash with your non sequiturs.’

‘My sequiturs _are_ following.’

‘Your…’ what? Maybe Jenson being crazy was still on the table after all. ‘I can’t believe I’m saying this, but please get back on topic.’

‘What did Nicole say to you?’ Jenson repeated, slightly slower than was strictly necessary. ‘About… about the whole thing?’ he waved the hand around Lewis’ shoulders around in front of his face to punctuate… something. Uncertainty, possibly. Or “the whole thing”. He didn’t know.

Lewis reluctantly recounted the keywords. Well, it was mostly just the one, which had appeared and reappeared in different contexts. Commitment. ‘Whatever she meant by that. She didn’t elaborate.’ He didn’t add that she’d said that he knew, and hadn’t believed him when he told her that, no, he, in fact, did not. It would just get back ’round to Nico for Jenson, and he didn’t want that.

‘Lewis, mate. Work out the answer.’

‘She’s not in competition with Nico! Nico’s married!’ Lewis glowered over this a moment, then added, ‘She could’ve talked to _me_ about it and I’d have told her that!’

‘Um,’ Jenson began ominously.

‘I did not,’ Lewis tersely pointed out, ‘just agree to the thing about Nico. It was for argument’s sake.’ Considering Nicole had supposedly _worried_ and all.

‘Okay,’ Jenson humoured him. Lewis sighed. ‘But, mate, the thing is, she thinks she _did_ talk to you about it.’

‘Well, she didn’t,’ Lewis said, aware that he was dangerously close to the rhetorical height of yelling “did not”. But, even when he dug through his memories of all the recent fights with Nicole, he couldn’t think of any instance where she’d actually come out and said—a lot of things, accusations maybe, left unspoken, yes; her disbelief when he asked her, baffled at her distrust, what on earth she was on about—but that wasn’t…

‘And I reckon she did, too,’ Jenson said, interrupting his mental survey. Lewis tried to fill the blanks he remembered in Nicole’s words in with “the fact that you like him”. It seemed to fit, but even if it meant she probably did think that, it didn’t mean it was true. 

‘It doesn’t matter anyway.’

‘Oh?’ Jenson challenged. ‘Then why weren’t you at his wedding?’

What? Lewis almost laughed. How was that supposed to prove anything, when the entire world had been invited to look in on the rapid deterioration of their friendship as the season went on, and at that point the two of them had already barely been able to stand the sight of each other? (A lot of that saga had thankfully remained behind closed doors.) ‘We were fighting, you may remember.’

‘And,’ Jenson said, the scepticism practically dripping from his words, ‘I suppose it had nothing to do with your painfully obvious infatuation with our fair Britney, of course.’

‘He disinvited me! So, no, I wouldn’t think so,’ he said. Jenson was clearly fully committed to the whole crushing on Nico thing and wouldn’t be talked out of it.

‘And this was when?’

Lewis was sure Jenson remembered because he’d complained about it to Jenson at great length last year, although he hadn’t even wanted to go anymore by the time his invitation was rescinded. He had only really wanted to be able to refuse to go and have the satisfaction of turning Nico down, and he’d been ticked off that Nico had essentially beaten him to it. ‘You know when it was.’ It had been quite memorable.

‘Lewis,’ Jenson said, and Lewis swore that if he was going to be asking another question, he would launch into a tirade of his own because Jenson? Jenson _was not_ some ancient philosopher working through a problem and, really, even if he were, Lewis didn’t have any time for all that dialogue bollocks, ‘did you ever consider it was because he knew?’

It was, technically, a question, but he was too exhausted for the tirade he’d promised himself. ‘No,’ Lewis said, because he felt he had to at least say something. He’d have gone for something more intelligent, if his speech apparatus would only cooperate with his mind. He’d made peace with it being one of the lows between him and Nico last year. If it hadn’t been, if Nico had instead thought so little of him that he’d worried he’d _cause a scene_ at Nico’s fucking wedding—no. He wasn’t entertaining this possibility.

Jenson sighed, and Lewis decided he’d had just about enough of that and elbowed him in the ribs. ‘Ow,’ Jenson yelped indignantly, which almost made him regret not hitting him harder. It was Jenson’s own fault for being a meddlesome twat.

‘You’re an idiot,’ Jenson sighed. ‘Of course, he’s an idiot too. He doesn’t know about your—’

‘Oh, God, don’t start,’ Lewis pleaded. Jenson had this whole theory about how Fernando had screwed his head up. According to Jenson’s stellar psychological insights, he was now damaged goods when it came to healthy competition. Or something like that. He never listened too closely whenever this came up. It did his head in.

‘Fine. So when you were acting weirdly for reasons that had nothing to with Fernando, what do you think he thought?’

‘He started it,’ Lewis muttered, no longer caring that this was an argumentative tactic straight out of the playground. If Jenson was trying to imply that Nico thought his impending wedding had caused their rift, that wasn’t better. Jenson sucked at helping, really.

‘I already said he was an idiot. He thought he was helping, and he wasn’t, that’s _why_ he’s an idiot.’

‘ _You_ are not helping.’

Jenson remained silent for a moment, hopefully contemplating how bad he was at being helpful and promising himself never to do it again.

‘ _Why_ does everyone think I have a thing for Nico?’ He _had_ to ask. He had a gift for speaking before he thought, and he never could help himself, could he. Lewis buried his face in his hands. ‘Please forget I said that.’

‘Lewis… I don’t know if you remember this,’ Jenson began, with a fond smile Lewis could hear in his voice, ‘because you were _really_ drunk at the time, but you told me.’

He definitely did not remember anything like that. ‘I told you?’

‘Yep,’ Jenson said cheerfully, and it was only morbid curiosity that was keeping him from begging Jenson to forget he’d ever admitted he didn’t recall the drunken confession that was currently under discussion. Truly, curiosity killed the cat, if only because the cat evidently couldn’t leave well enough alone. ‘You told me—look, are you sure you want to hear this?’

‘Yes,’ Lewis said into the safety of his hands, though he was still fairly certain he should’ve said “no” instead. He was really good at not saying what was good for him.

Lewis felt Jenson pluck his shades out of his hair from where his hands had pushed them up and abruptly felt ridiculous enough hiding his face like a toddler that the embarrassment of being the only one unaware of this crush he apparently had suddenly seemed bearable. He removed his hands and sat back up. Jenson handed him back his sunglasses without a word and Lewis took them gratefully. At least they were something to keep his hands occupied.

‘You asked for it, mind,’ Jenson warned. And, God help him, so he had. ‘It was back in 2010, right,’ he began, and Lewis promised himself not to interrupt and listened.

Jenson went on, ‘…by around midnight you were so far gone you could barely stand, because you are seriously _such_ a lightweight, mate,’ and here Lewis’ determination to keep quiet was seriously tested, ‘and as your elder teammate it was on me to go take care of you…’ 

Jenson meandered through all the unimportant details of him escorting Lewis to his room. To hear him tell it, it had been quite the adventure. ‘Anyway, you were sitting there contemplating your glass of water, and you just spontaneously started singing Britney’s praises. “Our Britney, huh?” I asked.’ Jenson paused for effect.

‘And you replied, “Yes, _Nico_ ,” with that emphasis and all. You’re so earnest when you’re drunk, and it is _adorable_. “He’s just…,” you continued, and then you shrugged and spilt your water. Sorry, mate, but as we’ve established you were so drunk you’ve no recollection of this incident. It’s not that glamourous. But I got you a new one, don’t worry,’ he added, as if Lewis cared whether five years ago he’d been given a fresh glass of water or not.

‘“I really like him, Jense,” you admitted, after some prodding. “I mean, I know…,” and then you trailed off again, and I think you wanted to do that helpless shrug thing again, except you remembered what happened last time, so you just… looked lost instead.’

Oh, God. Another story of drunken exploits he didn’t actually remember himself loomed at the back of his mind. ‘Apparently I tried to kiss him once,’ Lewis confessed miserably.

‘Oh,’ Jenson acknowledged. ‘I think that’s… new. Wait. “Apparently”—don’t tell me, you don’t actually remember?’

‘Nico told me.’

‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know, I was drunk and I tried to kiss him. It didn’t go very well. He told me sorry, but I was in no state and there was Vivian, and, well. He put me to bed and told me the next morning. I thought it was a wind-up for ages.’

‘No you didn’t,’ Jenson cut in.

‘No.’

‘Lewis,’ Jenson said, ‘do you see the pattern here?’ He did. Good God. ‘You seem to like Nico a whole lot more once you get some alcohol in you.’

Oh, God. ‘Oh, God,’ Lewis repeated out loud. ‘I do, don’t I?’

Jenson hmmed in affirmation. ‘You like him when you’re sober, too. You’re just better at hiding it then.’

He tentatively let himself think about it. About Nico. About… liking Nico, not as a friend (of course he did) but in that way. Nico, with his competitiveness and his hard work and his determination; the frankly ludicrous number of languages he spoke and the equally outrageous lies he used to try to get away with telling in translation until he’d figured out that while Lewis didn’t speak a word across the border himself he’d slowly been picking up bits and pieces of understanding and he dropped it—actually, there were a lot of aspects of Nico’s personality Lewis had no problem admitting he was quite fond of. 

Another avenue of introspection might be called for. Nico and his—well, to be honest, Lewis felt that his hair was kind of overhyped. It was hair. He thought of the expressiveness of Nico’s face, and Nico’s array of smiles and grins and smirks, all of the little tics and tells that he could read his moods from. Nico’s eyes, and how much he missed the way Nico used to look at him all through last season. And Nico’s—he forced himself to stay on topic. He was doing a systematic inventory of things about Nico that he liked, and that included… well. He liked… he liked the way the strength of his body lay hidden beneath his skin.

(And the way that Nico’s touches reverberated on his.)

He compared this to how he felt about Nicole. He thought about how much he did his best not to think of Nico in anything but professional terms. ‘Oh, God,’ he concluded.

‘You want a moment alone with God, mate?’ Jenson questioned.

‘Shut up,’ he hissed, scandalised. Jenson laughed at him. Jenson was a terrible friend. Speaking of… ‘Your one task was to console me.’

‘I am!’

‘You’re not.’

‘Actually, I offered to help you.’

‘Haven’t done that, either, man,’ Lewis pointed out. And, because it had been bothering him ever since Jenson had hinted at it, although at the time Lewis had been too busy arguing against his feelings for Nico, ‘I can’t believe she didn’t trust me.’

‘Maybe she’s an idiot, too,’ Jenson suggested agreeably.

‘You think everyone’s an idiot.’

Jenson, tellingly, did not try to deny this. ‘Or it could be she tried to talk to you about it and every time she did you clammed up and it made her suspicious?’

Wait. Oh, _God_. No wonder, then. Him and Nicole had been having two very different conversations. ‘I wouldn’t…’

‘I know, mate.’

‘I have to talk to her,’ he decided. It could still work out. He could explain, and give her the assurances she wanted about Nico. And all the rest… 

‘Lewis,’ Jenson cautioned. ‘It’s not a silver bullet.’

‘I don’t care.’ 

Jenson sighed. ‘How about if I sit with you for a while longer and shut up console you about your girlfriend first?’


End file.
